


Not A Tag Team Jesus

by gala_apples



Category: Bandom, Misfits, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Blow Jobs, Multi, Open Marriage, Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 17:21:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's pure chance that has Frank and Mikey outside when the lightning strikes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not A Tag Team Jesus

Mikey’s the last back on the bus when they leave Asda, the English answer to Walmart. He’s the last back by enough that they phone to heckle him. Not that he picks up. Assholes. It’s not his fault he was in line when he realised the hair dye box was dripping and had to go back for a different one. Unlike Gerard, he occasionally showers. So unlike Gerard and his ratsnest of cherry red, Mikey’s blonde dye is already beginning to fade. Maintaining a look is important, you’d think the fuckers would get that. 

For as long as they’ve had a bus, they’ve always had to park at the edge of the parking lot for there to be enough room. The parking lots here aren’t quite American Walmart large, those are nothing but a fucking ocean of cars. Smaller doesn’t mean _small_ though, it’s not a five step journey. Mikey glances up at the storm that’s brewing but doesn’t pick up the pace. Unless it starts pouring in the next thirty seconds he’s fine. And it’s not like the bus doesn’t have a dozen hoodies between them if he does get wet. 

He’s halfway there when Frank barrels down the front steps and sprints to meet him. “Do you have the candy you owe me?”

“Get your own damn candy dude,” are the last words out of Mikey’s mouth before a massive chunk of hail plummets from the sky and shatters the windshield of a car about three feet from him.

“Holy fuck!” Frank bellows. 

He grabs Mikey’s hand. Frank’s palm is sweaty for some reason, but his grip is tight. His fingers might be pressure-white, under all the ink. Mikey offers no resistance as Frank pulls him towards the bus. He’s got longer legs, but Frank has a speediness to him, and this time is no different. Frank wants to get the hell on the bus, and Mikey gets that. It’s large bodies of water and spiders that are truly scary, but there’s something freaky about hearing cars dent all around you. Not to mention if one of them got hit with a baseball sized bit of hail it could probably break an arm. Gee’s the only one that could afford a broken arm, but Mikey wouldn’t wish it on him either. A cast would interfere with his sass.

They’re about fifteen steps from the bus when the gloomy sky lights with lightning. Mikey doesn’t even have the chance to think _oh, fuck_ before it streaks down and into them. It’s weird. Lightning is supposed to hit high shit, and both the bus and the Asda are taller than him, and he’s taller than Frank so it doesn’t make sense that it gets him too. But Mikey knows it hits him, because it hurts like a motherfucker, and he knows it hits Frank because when he can actually open his eyes without moaning Frank is laid out beside him. 

The rest of the band has, of course, piled out of the bus. Not that they’re doing much good. They’re just standing over them and running the continuum of hysterical. He’s pretty sure that Mike is praying. Mikey wriggles his toes, fingers, blinks his eyes. All of his limbs in order, he figures it’s time to stand up. If he doesn’t do it soon Gerard will hyperventilate himself into fainting.

An hour later Mikey realises something is off. He’s warm. He’s _never_ warm. It’s pretty much a statistical impossibility for any thermostat he has control of to be turned to anything below 75. Having his home superheated has other bonuses, aside from enjoying not being a human popsicle. Alicia’s far more warmblooded than he is, and the higher Mikey pushes the heat the less his wife wears. It’s a win win situation. The same isn’t possible on tour, which tends to result in Mikey’s suitcase being two thirds hoodies. His fingernails have been winter purple since starting this tour. But now his fingers are normal pink, and the rest of him feels just as comfortable.

When in doubt, ask Ray. Mikey heaves himself out of the bunk, and pads to the front where four of them are battling in Mario Kart. “Do lightning strikes give you a fever? Or something?”

Ray generously lets Mike and Frank pass him as he puts his steering wheel down to feel Mikey’s forehead. Gerard watches them intently, and Mike takes the opportunity to crash Gerard into a spiral. Ray’s hand feels cold on Mikey’s skin and that’s off too. As much as all the guys are pretty good with a hug, Ray’s the one you go to if you want body heat. Mikey frowns and something -the best word is flickers, and even that’s not quite it- in his head, and suddenly Ray’s fingers are ice cold.

“Mother of fuck! Shit!” Ray jerks his hand away and Gerard starts hyperventilating again. Mike and Frank don’t look up from the other couch. Swearing is by no means something that attracts attention on a My Chem bus. 

“He’s that hot?” Gerard manages to ask.

“He fucking blistered my finger.”

Mike takes the briefest of seconds to reply “people can’t get that hot,” and in the time he says it Frank character throws a banana at his. Mike growls and jerks his wheel to counter the spin-out. 

“He blistered my fucking finger. It was shot up ten degrees in a second! Like a fucking superpower, like he was Charlie from Firestarter.”

“I’m blond. I’m not a eight year old girl.” 

“Try it again,” Gerard suggests, the idea of superpowers momentarily overpowering his brotherly concern. “Ray needs his fingers, try me.” 

Gerard presses the palm of his hand against Mikey’s forehead to the sound of Luigi cheering at winning. Mikey tries to make the _flicker_ happen again. He concentrates, not letting himself look at Gerard’s face. He just focuses until Gerard’s hand rises from drink from a vending machine cold -poor circulation runs in the family- to ice cold. 

“The lightning gave you super powers,” Gerard says faintly. Mikey gives him three minutes before he turns from shocked to proud and vaguely jealous.

“So, what? Mikey can get really warm?”

“Might as well try it the other way. See if he can get cold?”

He tries. He thinks ‘cold cold cold’, just like Gerard used to be an asshole during car rides and say ‘waterfall oasis stream’ when Mikey desperately needed to pee. It doesn’t work, he can’t make cold _flick_ in his brain. Frank and Mike watch for a bit, Frank complaining the whole time that it’s bullshit, he was hit too, he should get freaky temperature powers too. Eventually when Mikey can’t force his forehead to be cold they start another round. A two player vs two computer players game this time; James is sleeping and Ray and Gerard are occupied.

“So you can absorb and expel heat. Which I guess means you couldn’t stop a fire but you could suck the burn out of it?”

“I swear to god Mikey, if you stop my cigarettes from burning-”

Frank bursts out with “why’d you even say that? Don’t give him ideas!”

Mikey wouldn’t do it anyway. He values his life.

Finally Gerard remembers the importance of coffee in human males -and females, of course, Lyn-Z without it is quite possibly worse than Gerard without it- and stands up to go to kitchenette area. Mikey takes the moment to steal his spot and considers texting Pete about being magical. He doesn’t though. Not out of fear that Pete will tweet him about it, just doesn’t without a reason why. 

*

When it happens they’re in another parking lot. It’s noon, and hot as fuck and Frank’s eyes narrow when he sees the dog in the truck without the window even cracked. 

“Fuck.” Mike growls. He doesn’t have as many dogs as Frank does -no one does, except maybe pet shelters- but he’s got just as many pictures of his online as Frank. It’s one of the many things they’ve bonded over.

“I think it’s dead,” Gerard says sadly, peering in the window. 

Mikey’s stomach turns. What kind of fucking asshole does that to a pet? 

Their hands are their tools, their lifesblood. That doesn’t stop Frank from attempted to punch a hole in the window. It’s Ray’s borrowed shoe that finally gets the job done. Ray frowns when Frank pulls out the limp dog. It’s definitely dead, you don’t have to be a vet to see that. “Can we sue the owner? Can we do that? This is like murder, right?”

“Right.” 

Mikey has to look away. He considers phoning Alicia and asking her to give Bunny an extra hug from him. Fuck the time difference, she’ll understand. Turned away he doesn’t see the dog move, but he does hear it a moment later.

“Holy shit! It’s alive!”

“It was definitely not alive.”

It takes only a brief conversation to decide what to do with the dog. Ray’s the one that gives the series of turns to the driver, Mike and Gerard the ones to take the dog into the shelter. Frank’s on the phone to Jamia, saying all the violent things Mikey feels. He hopes that the ring didn’t wake up Cherry and Lily, but knows Jamia is capable of handling three people’s needs at once. Four really, or more. Jamia is pretty damn amazing.

When they come back on the bus, Gerard has a fish. Not a spectacular fish, not Japanese koi, or the kind that battle each other to the death. Just one of the kind you used to be able to get in plastic bags full of water dripping out of a pinprick in the corner. Mikey gestures his question.

“I’m going to kill the guppy,” Gerard explains.

“Don’t kill the guppy!” It’s loud enough to Mikey, Jamia’s probably wincing on the other side of the line.

“I’m going to kill the guppy and then you’re going to bring it back to life.”

It’s hard to say which one of them whimpers when Gerard pulls the fish out of the bag of water and it starts to flop around in his hand. It might even be Gerard. Mikey can still remember the interview they did talking about refusing to dissect animals in high school. But they all need to know if it was just a fluke and the dog wasn’t dead, or if Frank’s really got the crazy ability of breathing life into pets. So they wait until it stops flopping, wait an extra minute beyond that, and then Frank touches it.

Mikey’s holding his breath. He’s sure he’s not the only one. The bus is silent, and it stays silent as the fish starts flip flopping again. Gerard quickly tosses it back in the water before it can die a second time. The movement seems to break the seal.

“Holy shit!” 

“I can’t believe all it took was being hit by lightning. I woulda stepped out with Frank if I knew.”

“That’s so awesome Frank.”

“You have a zombie power!” 

That Frank takes offense to. “I’m not biting _anyone_.” 

“You don’t have to. You didn’t with the fish, you just touched it.”

“How about you don’t let people know you’re Jesus,” James suggests. “That’s the last thing My Chem needs after the Black Parade cult bullshit. “They’d completely ignore your story-” 

“High concept.” Gerard interrupts. 

“And just do this shit. Danger Days is better than that.”

*

They’re almost done in Europe when it comes on the news. Some kid can control cheese. It’s not nearly as cool as Frank’s newfound ability, nor as useful as Mikey’s, but it’s still a third person. A third person is proof that what they can do isn’t some fluke caused by a combination of twenty plus years of Jersey pollution and a lightning trigger. They make the decision to go back to Wertham. It would be nice to have verbal confirmation that his came from the storm too.

By the time they get there there are half a dozen more. A girl who can hear people’s thoughts. A boy who rewinds time. A girl that can heal all diseases. More beyond that. They check in, faces known enough to get a room in a ‘full’ hotel. They mingle. Ray and James get to talking to one guy about music. Mikey’s not sure if the guy has an ability, but he has opinions, and enough band name dropping to back them up.

Gerard is recognised, of course. He’s forced to give a soundbite that they all know will be misquoted. Gerard tries his best anyway, saying no he isn’t superpowered, nor is the rest of band, but they’ve all always been comic geeks and the chance to meet real superheros is too great to miss. Mikey has no doubt that within hours the internet will have theories that Frank’s got super speed or Ray has extendable hair like those Barbies in the nineties. A hundred assholes will all think they’re original in making a quip about Gerard handing over the reins to someone that could really save people’s lives, and then the fans will get irate and they’ll have hundreds more saying nice but ultimately awkward things about them being the reason they didn’t commit suicide. But that’s all borrowing problems from tomorrow. The bigger problem now is that all the people with powers have disappeared, along with at least half the guests. 

The sooner they find them the better. He and Frank have tonight to figure this out, then they’re due home. Mikey’s not even sure what he’s supposed to be learning from nineteen year old criminals but he’s prepared to hear any sort of wisdom. It’s not like he was stupid at nineteen, and neither are their teenage fans. The fact that they’re criminals isn’t very off-putting either, considering the FBI have been to talk to both of them.

It takes less than a minute of asking around to learn that most of the party goers have gathered to watch the live broadcast of Nathan committing suicide. Apparently he’s immortal. As a collective they know it’s a bad idea to attend. So far their reviews have been supportive, but attending a suicide is one step away from promoting it, and no one wants 2008 again. Ray goes back to the bus, hoping to get a private moment with Christa. For the good of the band, Gerard and Mike and Dewees stay in the decorated hall, leaving just Mikey and Frank to find wherever backstage is.

It’s obvious they’ve guessed right when a curly haired guy with blood on his dress shirt walks in. It must be the years of experience. He grins a toothy grin, head clearly no worse the wear for being shot at. “Enjoy the show?”

Mikey shrugs. “We didn’t watch.” He’s not sure they would have enjoyed it even if they _had_ watched. There’s a difference between brain splatter in movies and brain splatter in real life.

“Well, why the fuck not?”

“Our band doesn’t need to be in the fucking tabloids again. You guys are actually kind of dicks with tabloids.” Frank scowls.

“And who the fuck are you?”

Mikey’s a bit stunned -it’s not like they haven’t been in a ton of magazines over the last nearly ten years- but it’s almost easier this way. At least they can’t be name dropped later. He doesn’t have time to answer anyway, Frank does it for him. “We’re motherfuckers in a band that can reverse cause of death.”

“You’re Jesus two point oh? Well thanks for not fucking me over. I’m gonna get rich on this shit. Unless I get upstaged. Cheeseboy got royally fucked by me and my mates. You want a pint or something?”

“No, it’s okay.”

“No, no, you’re keeping me in business. You don’t want a pint, fine, you want my arse?”

That’s actually more tempting. It doesn’t violate the _don’t mess with fans_ law they have. Nathan has no idea who they are. It won’t bother Alicia, they have an open marriage. If anything she’ll want to hear details about the hot jailbait he had fun with the next time they Skype. As far as he knows, Jamia won’t be bothered either. Mikey doesn’t know the details, just knows they were with Bob for a while, and a girl named Marie before that.

Sure enough, a second later Frank gets a text. He grins when he looks up. “Jamia says sure.” 

“Oh shit, didn’t think you’d take me up on it.”

“Well no one’s forcing you if it was a joke.” Gay jokes are stupid, and generally mean spirited, but that doesn’t change the fact that no means no.

“No, only cunts back down. Woulda done it for Barry, and you two are sexier than he is. Pale fishy cunt, Barry is.”

“You got a room?” The quicker they get to pants off, the quicker Nathan’s not talking any more. Mikey’d like that to be sooner rather than later. Nathan’s kind of an asshole.

“Course I do. I’m the star attraction!”

Nathan keeps up the offensive chatter for the elevator ride and the walk down the hall. And then he’s pulling his keycard out of the lock, and Mikey’s using one foot to press the slowly closing door faster, and one hand to push Nathan to his knees. He’d use his other hand to get Frank’s zipper undone, but Frank’s got that task completed himself. 

“You two have a tag team power?” Nathan asks as he’s kneeling at Frank’s feet, wet dick inches from his face. Mikey decides to intervene before anything regretful happens. Lucky for them both Nathan is a young man with an insanely inflated ego. He’s got a basket full of condoms on the table like he thinks he’s gonna fuck fifty girls a night. It’s a matter of seconds to snag two and brandish one at Nathan. “Can only bring people back from the dead if you’re holding hands?”

“No. He does it, I change the temperature of things.”

“So technically then I don’t have to suck you off at all.”

Mikey shrugs slightly. He’s really not into forcing people. Frank doesn’t seem to think that’d fair. “Dude, Mikey could upshow you just as much as I can. He can suck the heat out of fire. What’s to stop him from running the do-gooder angle and saving a burning school bus of kindergarteners? That would totally fuck you.”

Mikey would like to think he’d save children for a better reason than ruining this guy’s spotlight. Not to mention he’s not sure if that would actually save them. Most victims of fire die from smoke inhalation, not the actual fire.

“You’re right. Don’t do that until you’re back in America.”

Mikey leans against the wall and slowly jerks himself as Frank’s getting blown. Nathan evidently has no gag reflex, and he doesn’t seem bothered by the taste of latex. His lips go down to Frank’s pubes again and again. Mikey’s almost ready to pop by the time Frank’s arching his head back, arching so much it looks like one of his stage maneuvers. He’s never fucked any of his band. He never will. There are some things he can’t afford the potential ruin of, and the band is one of them. Still, there’s no question that Frank is a sight to behold, dripping with sweat.

Nathan pulls off spit making a string from Frank’s softening cock to his lips. It stretches longer and longer before it breaks. “Put your rubber on so I can get full points.”

Sensing it’s now or never, Mikey rips off the edge of the packet and slides the latex up his dick. Getting blown with a condom on isn’t nearly good as tongue to skin, but it’s the price you pay when you fuck someone who’s not your wife. From what Mikey’s heard from Alicia, dental dams are even worse.

It’s not the best Mikey’s ever had, even with a stranger. No one would ever accuse Nathan of having the superpower of blowjobs. But Nathan doesn’t bite down, and Mikey still comes, and it still takes him a minute of heavy breathing before he can take off the condom and tie a knot so it doesn’t drip.

“Now do you want a pint?”

Mikey looks at Frank before answering for the both of them. “Not really.”

“Well, we’re all getting the fuck out of my room anyway. I’m getting a pint. My mouth tastes like a bloody balloon.”

They part ways after the elevator lands on ground floor. A thought occurs to Mikey, and he doesn’t filter himself as it falls out of his mouth. “I think I’m fucking _old_ now.”

“Why’s that?”

“The first thing I’m gonna tell Alicia is orgasms created by assholes aren’t worth it. There’s no way I would have thought that ten years ago.”

Frank shrugs. “Ten years ago we _were_ those young assholes. With equally bad hair.”

Mikey scoffs. “There’s no way-”

“Birdsnest, Mikeyway.”

Well, maybe Frank has a point.


End file.
